They are already celebrating in New Zealand, but for us, the big moment won't come for another five hours. The question is, will I be awake to "Ring Out, Wild Bells...Ring In The New"? Not likely. Just this morning, Gerald was describing to Seth my typical New Year's routine:
Said he, "This is Mom's New Year's Eve. She stays awake long enough to watch the ball drop in New York (at 10:00 here), she says 'Happy New Year,' and she goes to sleep. That's since we've lived in this time zone. When we lived in the Pacific Time Zone, she would watch it drop at 9:00, and then go to sleep."
Yep, that pretty much describes it. Even 10:00 is pushing it for me. I need a ton of sleep in order to function. If I stay up until midnight, my whole next day will suffer. Can it be worth it? After all, when I wake in the morning, refreshed and rested, it will still be 2013, right? What did I really miss?
As I look toward a new year, I do so with good expectations. I'm excited to welcome President Obama for a second term (sorry, conservative friends) and look forward to his inauguration in three weeks. I'm praying congress will figure something out in the next five hours to avoid going over the "fiscal cliff," without raising taxes on the middle class, eliminating unemployment benefits for those out of work, or giving tax breaks to the wealthiest of wealthy. I hope they can do it.
As for resolutions, I should probably look back to a year ago, but it's a little embarrassing. I believe I set two main goals, (1) to walk 1,200 miles in 2012 and (2) to cook more meals at home. Hmmm. Well you see, it's like this. As of May 26th, I was right on track with the walking; I was actually ahead of schedule, having walked nearly 600 miles in five months. Then Shulamith had her baby and everything changed. He was so tiny, and she was so sick, and both of them needed much help. My regular walking routine just didn't fit in. Before Swen was born, she and I had dreamed of the summer walking we would do, baby in stroller, weather warm, calories burning fast and furious. Dreams are sometimes just that. Swen hated his stroller almost as much as he hated his car seat. He pretty much hated everything other than human arms. Consistent walking this past summer was not to be.
So that resolution didn't quite pan out. As for the cooking, I sort of tried, but the problem is I just don't like the food here. If I don't like the food in a particular restaurant, I don't go there. It's kinda the same. Only worse. At a restaurant where I don't like the food, at least I don't have to prepare it or clean up the mess. So I won't comment further on this resolution because it was pretty much a wash.
Onward to 2013. I have a few goals, hopefully more attainable than last year's. First, I found a chart on Pinterest (where else?) that divides the Book of Mormon into 365 equal parts. Seth and I are going to read it together! One time several years ago, Isaiah and Eli and I read the book together, and I have sweet memories of that time. I don't know if they do, but I definitely do. When Shulamith is around, she will read with us. Same with Gerald. But we're not waiting for them. Seth and I have a mission! Second, we must get back to the gym. We have been off the wagon for over a month, ever since the holiday rush began, and we've indulged in far too much "figgy pudding" and other delectable treats. It's time to get back on the plan.
Third, I hope to read more. I love to read, but when I have hundreds of pages of essays to read (arrugh!), sometimes I don't make time to read anything else. This is not good. I forget that people are capable of writing without comma splices, dangling modifiers, pronoun-antecedent agreement errors, and sentence fragments. So today, I downloaded three books to my Kindle. They are all very different from one another, and I'm excited to check them out. First, I downloaded Racing in the Rain: My Life as a Dog, because my mom loved it and suggested it to me. Second, I downloaded Safe Haven, the latest Nicholas Sparks novel that will soon be released as a movie. I want to read it before I see it. Third, I downloaded "Wonderstruck," on the recommendation of my friend Elisa. I don't know much about it, but it has to do with living a "wonderstruck" life, rather than passing by the many wonders. Sounds good!
So welcome, 2013! I have high hopes for you.
Monday, December 31, 2012
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
When the Two Webster Women Cook...
...let's just say the outcome is not usually good. Not at all. No two people have ruined more recipes, wasted more ingredients, or created more culinary disasters than Shulamith and I. Yeah, it's that bad. I was shocked that after a week in our home prior to their engagement, Mathew was even brave enough to propose. So why on earth would we attempt to bake Christmas treats? I have no idea. None. But something possessed us to do so, and last week we decided we would bake a different dessert each day. We mapped out a plan and bought all the ingredients, both of us hesitant but certain we'd be positively delighted if even one of these recipes turned out.
But Christmas is all about miracles, even the tiniest. You are not going to believe this, but ALL FIVE RECIPES turned out great. Even as I write this, I'm still stunned. Most of the goodies are already gone. That never happens. People actually wanted to eat what we made. Not to boast or anything, but I can't help myself. I'm going to show you just a little of what we did:
On Monday, we made Chex mix, two kinds (!), sweet and traditional savory.
But Christmas is all about miracles, even the tiniest. You are not going to believe this, but ALL FIVE RECIPES turned out great. Even as I write this, I'm still stunned. Most of the goodies are already gone. That never happens. People actually wanted to eat what we made. Not to boast or anything, but I can't help myself. I'm going to show you just a little of what we did:
On Monday, we made Chex mix, two kinds (!), sweet and traditional savory.
Savory!
Sweet!
On Tuesday, we made fudge. Okay, it was just microwave fudge, but give two girls a break. We were afraid to try anything that involved cooking candy on the stove. But hey...we made two kinds: chocolate and peanut butter. Both were good, but the chocolate was especially tempting, so much so that Kitty, our year-old Boxer pup, decided to eat just about all of it. We had left the room for only a few minutes. I returned first to find the entire container of fudge gone, and Kitty looking up at me, sheepishly. Ack!! We all know chocolate is not good for dogs. Gerald got online to get information, and Shulamith called a 24-hour vet. Both confirmed that Kitty is big enough that the amount of chocolate she consumed would not be toxic; however, she would likely get sick. Oh yes indeed. She spent much of Christmas day throwing up in various places. Okay..no further details needed.
On Wednesday, we made sugar cookies and even enlisted Seth's help.
On Thursday, we made gingerbread people. This was the scariest day of all. The dough had to refrigerate overnight, and it didn't look very good. It smelled very strong, not sweet like cookies are supposed to. We were pretty scared. But with Diet Cokes in hand, we faced our fears...
And voila!
We're feeling pretty awesome about all this; yes we are! A little like those food bloggers you see on Pinterest with pictures of delicious food, with step-by-step instructions. Okay, not really. But it was another tiny Christmas miracle.
(Christmas, 2012 - Part 3 of 3)
No Pink Eye for Christmas, and Other Tiny Miracles
Christmas is without question my favorite day of the year. All season is really my favorite. I can't get enough of the sights and sounds. I'm in awe each year of the transforming power of this holiday in the hearts of all of us; everywhere I look, I see demonstrations of unselfish kindness and increased tolerance and grace, the result of what can only be the pure love of Christ, manifested in mere mortals. Even in the midst of the tremendous pain and suffering, fear and doubt, hurt and anguish that is life, we are each transformed at Christmas. This year a friend of mine decided to help two families who are struggling to make ends meet. She single-handedly collected enough donations to provide each family with groceries for Christmas dinner, some presents, and cash to pay utility bills and prevent shut-offs. I am honored to have been one of many, many who was able to assist her in this effort.
For six weeks, Christmas music plays almost constantly on my car radio and also in our home, which we decorate with love just after Thanksgiving. As the carol goes, "Christmas is my favorite time of the year." So you can only imagine my dismay when on December 23rd, I developed an allergic reaction (to who knows what?), resulting in a horrible case of conjunctivitis, aka pink eye. It began during Relief Society that morning and continued to worsen through the day. Christmas Eve, I awoke to a swollen, red eye, oozing and sore. I spent most of the day like this:
It was quiet here. Gerald and Isaiah had to work all afternoon and evening. Shulamith spent part of the day visiting Mathew's family, and by the time she got home at 3:30, she was stuck doing all the last-minute running around that I should have done that day. There was no way I could have driven, especially in the bright snow that blanketed the city. So Shulamith handed me Swen (my eye condition was an allergic reaction, so not contagious), who promptly fell asleep, and I lay in this chair and continued to ice my very sore eye while he napped across my chest. She ran all the Christmas errands by herself, including picking up Chinese dinner for everyone. Gerald and Isaiah were home by 6:00, and Matt was off work a couple hours later. Everyone was in full celebratory mood; I was just as you see above. In pain. It was so sad.
I took an antihistamine and some ibuprofen and went to bed, my bag of frozen corn on my nightstand. And sometime in the night, I awoke to a tiny Christmas miracle. My eye wasn't throbbing. For a second, I didn't believe it. I could touch my eyelid without pain. It was still goopy and red, but it didn't hurt. I got up just to make sure I wasn't imagining it. Gratitude enveloped me. I was so thankful I would not be in pain all Christmas day. And so I wasn't. My eye was still not normal; even today it isn't quite back to normal. But it was way, way better.
We gathered around 9:00, ate breakfast, and began opening gifts, knowing we would be gloriously interrupted at 10:30 to Skype with Eli from Memphis, where he is currently serving. I could barely contain my excitement.
For six weeks, Christmas music plays almost constantly on my car radio and also in our home, which we decorate with love just after Thanksgiving. As the carol goes, "Christmas is my favorite time of the year." So you can only imagine my dismay when on December 23rd, I developed an allergic reaction (to who knows what?), resulting in a horrible case of conjunctivitis, aka pink eye. It began during Relief Society that morning and continued to worsen through the day. Christmas Eve, I awoke to a swollen, red eye, oozing and sore. I spent most of the day like this:
I took an antihistamine and some ibuprofen and went to bed, my bag of frozen corn on my nightstand. And sometime in the night, I awoke to a tiny Christmas miracle. My eye wasn't throbbing. For a second, I didn't believe it. I could touch my eyelid without pain. It was still goopy and red, but it didn't hurt. I got up just to make sure I wasn't imagining it. Gratitude enveloped me. I was so thankful I would not be in pain all Christmas day. And so I wasn't. My eye was still not normal; even today it isn't quite back to normal. But it was way, way better.
We gathered around 9:00, ate breakfast, and began opening gifts, knowing we would be gloriously interrupted at 10:30 to Skype with Eli from Memphis, where he is currently serving. I could barely contain my excitement.
Coming down the stairs for presents!
The Webster-Monson Family on Swen's 1st Christmas
The highlight of our day: Skype with Elder Webster!
Mom and Seth
We spent the rest of the day eating good food (well, not healthy-good, but delicious), listening to Christmas music, enjoying family time together. Okay, I'm lying. A little. That's what some of us did. There are those in the family who promptly escaped to Seth's room to engage in intense video-game playing. What can I say? It's a disease. Before we knew it, it was 6:30 and time to leave for the movie.
No pink eye for Christmas. My tiny, but perfect, Christmas miracle!
(Christmas, 2012 - Part 2 of 3)
Take My Hand, and Lead Me to Salvation...
...Take my love, for love is everlasting.
And remember, the truth that once was spoken:
"To love another person is to see the face of God."
And so, I sing. I've been singing all day. I've been singing ever since last night; indeed, I'm pretty sure I was even singing in my dreams. For nearly three hours last evening, I sat captivated by the music and the heart and the grace and the pain and the redemption of the marvelous musical that is Les Miserables. It was epic.
It's tradition in our family to go to a movie on Christmas night. We go every year. I remember seeing The Polar Express on Christmas, 2003 with all five kids, Seth just 3-1/2. It was difficult in those days to find a movie that fit everyone's tastes; we have a wide range of ages and interests. It's still difficult. Last year, we saw Mission Impossible, a bit of a concession for me although I enjoyed it more than I thought I would. This year there was no decision to make; I would see Les Mis. Shulamith could not go because Baby Swen is definitely not movie worthy. This was the first year in many that she wasn't with me at a movie on Christmas night. But there were still Gerald and Isaiah, both of whom would have gladly seen Les Mis. Seth, however, was not so accommodating. He's 12, remember. And a boy. So Gerald kindly volunteered to take him to The Hobbit while Isaiah and I went to Les Mis at the same time in the same theatre.
I don't know much about The Hobbit. I remember trying to read it once but only making it through maybe 10 pages. I used to be able to claim that was because I don't like fantasy. This worked as my excuse for not reading Harry Potter too, that and the fact that a main character in the series is a long, disgusting creature with no arms or legs. Nope, I don't like fantasy. I like books about real people and real things that can really happen. Of course I lost all credibility when Twilight was written, but that's another story. So no, I don't know about The Hobbit, but I cannot imagine a more perfect Christmas movie than Les Miserables, the story of one Jean Valjean and his quest for the courage to love and to forgive and to partake of the gift of redemptive grace.
And so, I sing. I'm sure my family is very tired by now of my singing. Sucks for them.
I don't know much about The Hobbit. I remember trying to read it once but only making it through maybe 10 pages. I used to be able to claim that was because I don't like fantasy. This worked as my excuse for not reading Harry Potter too, that and the fact that a main character in the series is a long, disgusting creature with no arms or legs. Nope, I don't like fantasy. I like books about real people and real things that can really happen. Of course I lost all credibility when Twilight was written, but that's another story. So no, I don't know about The Hobbit, but I cannot imagine a more perfect Christmas movie than Les Miserables, the story of one Jean Valjean and his quest for the courage to love and to forgive and to partake of the gift of redemptive grace.
And so, I sing. I'm sure my family is very tired by now of my singing. Sucks for them.
Do you hear the people sing?
Singing a song of angry men?
It is the music of a people
Who will not be slaves again!
When the beating of your heart
Echoes the beating of the drums
There is a life about to start
When tomorrow comes!
Singing a song of angry men?
It is the music of a people
Who will not be slaves again!
When the beating of your heart
Echoes the beating of the drums
There is a life about to start
When tomorrow comes!
(Christmas, 2012 - Part 1 of 3)
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Good + Good + Good = Exponentially Great!
Have you ever noticed that when you take several really good things and put them together, the result is more than just good; it's exponentially great? I recently wrote about such a combination: a warm fleece blanket, my rocking chair, and "Vampire Diaries." But there are so many other examples:
So popular are these concerts that if you want a seat, you have to arrive an hour early. Here are Shulamith and Swen saving seats, while I go fetch Diet Cokes:
Swen was a little trooper for the most part; often times, we were able to get him to sleep before the performance began. Other times, he was wide awake and jammin' to the music. Today was the final concert in the series. It was a little sad, I must admit. These concerts have become such a lovely part of my week. We never won the $100 Christmas cash given out at the end of each concert, but we never gave up hope. Every time the announcer seemed stumped over a name, we were sure it had to be Shulamith. It wasn't. Nevertheless, it was a glorious experience every time because honestly, when you combine three such fabulous things as the mall, Christmas music, and anything free, how could it not be?
- a BFF, McDonald's fries, and Diet Cokes
- heated seats in the car, Starbuck's hot chocolate, and a fresh snowy morning
- a walk in the rain, Kitty on a leash, and my favorite Pandora station playing
So popular are these concerts that if you want a seat, you have to arrive an hour early. Here are Shulamith and Swen saving seats, while I go fetch Diet Cokes:
Monday, December 17, 2012
Will Pants Make Me Equal?
After hearing all the hype over the group "All Enlisted" and its "Wear Pants to Church" event scheduled for this past Sunday, I wondered if I would be able to refrain from commenting. Before I decided, though, the tragedy in Connecticut occurred. At that point, nothing seemed very important other than those beautiful children and their heroic teachers, not to mention their devastated, grieving parents. I think I felt even more empathy for them than I might have otherwise, had it not been only two days since I received the terrifying phone call to tell me my Seth had been hit by a car. The outcomes were very different. My son, though frightened and sore, was released from the hospital emergency room that day, virtually unscathed. The victims at Sandy Hook Elementary School will not come home at all. I am so very sorry. My heart aches for their parents, and I can only pray that the healing power of the atonement will surround them and that the love of our Father in Heaven will be sufficient to provide strength at this horrible time.
Sunday came and went. I don't know much about what happened regarding the "Wear Pants" business, but today I decided to make a few comments rather than skirting (pun intended) around the issue. First, I'm baffled as to how a pair of pants could make someone feel equal, if she doesn't already. Maybe I'm missing something? I guess I've always felt privileged to have so many clothing options (and seriously, no one loves clothes more than I do). I can wear dresses, skirts, pants, capris, leggings with long shirts, etc. Men have only one choice: pants. We ladies most certainly have the better deal.
As for church, my church does not have a dress code for Sunday meetings. End of story. People are welcome at my church always, and they are not told what they may and may not wear. If I wanted to wear pants to church, I would, and I wouldn't need a special Sunday to do it. In my ward in Washington, two of the sisters wore pants every week. If anyone cared, I never heard about it. They were welcomed and accepted just like everyone else. I personally, choose to wear a dress or skirt. I like to dress in my "Sunday best"; for me, it demonstrates a sense of respect for the Lord, especially when I partake of the Sacrament. And my best clothes happen to be skirts or dresses. I'm not a "dress pants" kind of girl, so my pant wardrobe consists mostly of jeans. For me, jeans would not show the kind of respect I desire. But that's just me. It's not a rule. If I wanted to wear jeans to church, I could.
The question is, if I did wear jeans to church, would people judge me? I don't know. My guess is that some probably would? Because here's the thing. In my church, we are a group of very imperfect humans, and like all imperfect humans, we tend to judge one another. It's not right. It's not what we're taught. But it happens. I suspect I've been judged by various people in my church over a number of my choices, choices that appear unorthodox or strange, choices people sometimes don't understand. At one time or another, I've likely been judged for my choice to use my own last name, the one I was born with, rather than someone else's. I've probably been judged a time or two because of my openly liberal political beliefs, most recently my unyielding support for President Obama. I've probably even been judged here and there because I am not willing to assume the role of "grandmother" in any context.
But even if I'm sometimes the target of human judgment, and even if some of that judgment comes from those in my church, I try hard not to be too offended. I keep in mind two important things: (1) These choices are part of who I am, and I am fully comfortable with them, and (2) I'm quite human myself, and though I hate to admit it, I've done my fair share of judging. Guilty I am! As for the pants business, I can't imagine how pants could have anything to do with equality. I just can't. But please don't tell me I'm not equal in my own church. Believe me, I would not associate myself with a church in which I was not considered 100% equal with every other human being, whether male or female. And I don't need a pair of pants to prove it.
Sunday came and went. I don't know much about what happened regarding the "Wear Pants" business, but today I decided to make a few comments rather than skirting (pun intended) around the issue. First, I'm baffled as to how a pair of pants could make someone feel equal, if she doesn't already. Maybe I'm missing something? I guess I've always felt privileged to have so many clothing options (and seriously, no one loves clothes more than I do). I can wear dresses, skirts, pants, capris, leggings with long shirts, etc. Men have only one choice: pants. We ladies most certainly have the better deal.
As for church, my church does not have a dress code for Sunday meetings. End of story. People are welcome at my church always, and they are not told what they may and may not wear. If I wanted to wear pants to church, I would, and I wouldn't need a special Sunday to do it. In my ward in Washington, two of the sisters wore pants every week. If anyone cared, I never heard about it. They were welcomed and accepted just like everyone else. I personally, choose to wear a dress or skirt. I like to dress in my "Sunday best"; for me, it demonstrates a sense of respect for the Lord, especially when I partake of the Sacrament. And my best clothes happen to be skirts or dresses. I'm not a "dress pants" kind of girl, so my pant wardrobe consists mostly of jeans. For me, jeans would not show the kind of respect I desire. But that's just me. It's not a rule. If I wanted to wear jeans to church, I could.
The question is, if I did wear jeans to church, would people judge me? I don't know. My guess is that some probably would? Because here's the thing. In my church, we are a group of very imperfect humans, and like all imperfect humans, we tend to judge one another. It's not right. It's not what we're taught. But it happens. I suspect I've been judged by various people in my church over a number of my choices, choices that appear unorthodox or strange, choices people sometimes don't understand. At one time or another, I've likely been judged for my choice to use my own last name, the one I was born with, rather than someone else's. I've probably been judged a time or two because of my openly liberal political beliefs, most recently my unyielding support for President Obama. I've probably even been judged here and there because I am not willing to assume the role of "grandmother" in any context.
But even if I'm sometimes the target of human judgment, and even if some of that judgment comes from those in my church, I try hard not to be too offended. I keep in mind two important things: (1) These choices are part of who I am, and I am fully comfortable with them, and (2) I'm quite human myself, and though I hate to admit it, I've done my fair share of judging. Guilty I am! As for the pants business, I can't imagine how pants could have anything to do with equality. I just can't. But please don't tell me I'm not equal in my own church. Believe me, I would not associate myself with a church in which I was not considered 100% equal with every other human being, whether male or female. And I don't need a pair of pants to prove it.
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Fight or Flight: Love, Fear, Anger, and Profound Gratitude
As I sit here this evening, my body is still in fight or flight mode. Though exhausted, I have yet to decompress, after a day filled with a myriad of emotions. Just a couple days ago, I wrote this post about our 12-year-old son, Seth. It never occurred to me I'd be writing about him again so soon.
At 7:50 this morning, I sent him off to school with the typical "Did you brush your teeth?" and "I love you; have a good day!" I slipped back into bed to relax a bit and must have unintentionally drifted to sleep when I was awakened suddenly by my phone. "Is this Seth Erichsen's mom?" Yes. "Seth was hit by a car on his way to school. He is breathing, but that is all I know." Still in pajamas, I grabbed my big Montana winter coat that goes clear to the ground and raced out the door. Seth's school is very near our house; it would take longer to get the car out of the garage than to simply run. So run I did! I remember the cold air forced into my lungs as I ran and ran, and then the dream-like feeling as I approached the school and saw the fire trucks and ambulance, the paramedics, and the people gathered all around. How many times have I driven by such a situation? So many times. But this time it was my child. It was terrifying.
I ran straight through the crowd to Seth and was overcome by the flood of instant relief as I found him conscious, crying, but able to talk to me. A prayer of thanks in my heart, I held his hand and reassured him that all would be well, that the paramedics were taking good care of him, and that Heavenly Father was watching over him. They told me I could ride in the ambulance next to him. As I buckled myself in, I flashed back to my only other ambulance ride with Shulamith nearly 25 years ago. How grateful I am to these amazing professionals. Not only did they do exceptional work caring for Seth's physical needs, but they were so kind to both of us. The hospital is not far, but the trip seemed endless. All the way there, one medic continuously reassured me as he took Seth's vitals and watched for any signs of concussion. The other one talked to Seth about all sorts of things to keep his mind off what was happening: Christmas, video games, school.
At the hospital, we received the same wonderful care from the ER nurses as they examined Seth. The physician was equally caring as she used ultrasonography to check his internal organs. Can I just say that ultrasounds are not nearly as fun when you don't see a baby in there, but we were happy enough to hear her say everything looked perfectly normal. She showed Seth his kidneys, his bladder, and I can't remember what else. All was well on the inside. He also suffered no broken bones or any other injuries, beyond some nasty road rash on his elbow and hip. I've seen worse, though, when Eli falls off his long board.
He was discharged within an hour, but not before we had a visit from the police officer who was covering the accident. After receiving such gracious and loving care from absolutely everyone we encountered up to that point, I was shocked by the behavior of this officer. He walked into the room and did not so much as ask Seth how he was feeling or if he was okay. Yes, it was obvious Seth was not in any imminent danger, but still, he's a child and he was just hit by a car! The man didn't even say hello to Seth. Instead, he informed us that he had interviewed a witness, and then looking at Seth for the first time, he announced, "You are at fault in this accident. Even though you were in the crosswalk, a truck was blocking the view of the person who hit you, so she couldn't see you. You need to be more careful when you cross the street."
Seth, who was just starting to feel calm after this ordeal, crumbled to tears and asked us if we were mad at him. No! No! Of course we were not mad at him. But I was mad. Let me tell you that. I have had precious few interactions with police officers, but every one I've had has been negative, and this one was the worst. This man walked into my little boy's hospital room and told him it was his fault he was hit by a car while in the crosswalk in front of his school. This mama bear was seething inside, and big sister was no happier. It's a good thing the guy left when he did or he might have had TWO angry mamas after him. And he may not have lived to tell about it.
I'm trying not to dwell on that. Because it's not worth it. More importantly is the gratitude I feel that my baby is alive and well. It could have been so different. He played video games most of the day (thank you, Matt!) and then insisted on going to his Young Men's activity tonight. It was hard to let him out of my sight. He might be feeling fine, but Mom is still in hyper-protective mode. Fight or flight, remember? "Flight" gave me the ability to run fast and unceasingly from home to school this morning. "Fight" made me nearly attack a police officer in a hospital. Motherhood is certainly not for wimps.
He is asleep now. I just went in for the third or fourth time to check on him. How many more times will I do that before the night is over? I don't know. But I think I'll go again now...
At 7:50 this morning, I sent him off to school with the typical "Did you brush your teeth?" and "I love you; have a good day!" I slipped back into bed to relax a bit and must have unintentionally drifted to sleep when I was awakened suddenly by my phone. "Is this Seth Erichsen's mom?" Yes. "Seth was hit by a car on his way to school. He is breathing, but that is all I know." Still in pajamas, I grabbed my big Montana winter coat that goes clear to the ground and raced out the door. Seth's school is very near our house; it would take longer to get the car out of the garage than to simply run. So run I did! I remember the cold air forced into my lungs as I ran and ran, and then the dream-like feeling as I approached the school and saw the fire trucks and ambulance, the paramedics, and the people gathered all around. How many times have I driven by such a situation? So many times. But this time it was my child. It was terrifying.
I ran straight through the crowd to Seth and was overcome by the flood of instant relief as I found him conscious, crying, but able to talk to me. A prayer of thanks in my heart, I held his hand and reassured him that all would be well, that the paramedics were taking good care of him, and that Heavenly Father was watching over him. They told me I could ride in the ambulance next to him. As I buckled myself in, I flashed back to my only other ambulance ride with Shulamith nearly 25 years ago. How grateful I am to these amazing professionals. Not only did they do exceptional work caring for Seth's physical needs, but they were so kind to both of us. The hospital is not far, but the trip seemed endless. All the way there, one medic continuously reassured me as he took Seth's vitals and watched for any signs of concussion. The other one talked to Seth about all sorts of things to keep his mind off what was happening: Christmas, video games, school.
At the hospital, we received the same wonderful care from the ER nurses as they examined Seth. The physician was equally caring as she used ultrasonography to check his internal organs. Can I just say that ultrasounds are not nearly as fun when you don't see a baby in there, but we were happy enough to hear her say everything looked perfectly normal. She showed Seth his kidneys, his bladder, and I can't remember what else. All was well on the inside. He also suffered no broken bones or any other injuries, beyond some nasty road rash on his elbow and hip. I've seen worse, though, when Eli falls off his long board.
He was discharged within an hour, but not before we had a visit from the police officer who was covering the accident. After receiving such gracious and loving care from absolutely everyone we encountered up to that point, I was shocked by the behavior of this officer. He walked into the room and did not so much as ask Seth how he was feeling or if he was okay. Yes, it was obvious Seth was not in any imminent danger, but still, he's a child and he was just hit by a car! The man didn't even say hello to Seth. Instead, he informed us that he had interviewed a witness, and then looking at Seth for the first time, he announced, "You are at fault in this accident. Even though you were in the crosswalk, a truck was blocking the view of the person who hit you, so she couldn't see you. You need to be more careful when you cross the street."
Seth, who was just starting to feel calm after this ordeal, crumbled to tears and asked us if we were mad at him. No! No! Of course we were not mad at him. But I was mad. Let me tell you that. I have had precious few interactions with police officers, but every one I've had has been negative, and this one was the worst. This man walked into my little boy's hospital room and told him it was his fault he was hit by a car while in the crosswalk in front of his school. This mama bear was seething inside, and big sister was no happier. It's a good thing the guy left when he did or he might have had TWO angry mamas after him. And he may not have lived to tell about it.
I'm trying not to dwell on that. Because it's not worth it. More importantly is the gratitude I feel that my baby is alive and well. It could have been so different. He played video games most of the day (thank you, Matt!) and then insisted on going to his Young Men's activity tonight. It was hard to let him out of my sight. He might be feeling fine, but Mom is still in hyper-protective mode. Fight or flight, remember? "Flight" gave me the ability to run fast and unceasingly from home to school this morning. "Fight" made me nearly attack a police officer in a hospital. Motherhood is certainly not for wimps.
He is asleep now. I just went in for the third or fourth time to check on him. How many more times will I do that before the night is over? I don't know. But I think I'll go again now...
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